


My Lungs Feel So Small

by childofthemuses



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Anorexic Lance, Anxiety, Blood and Injury, Depression, Eating Disorders, Friends doing the wrong thing to help, Homesick Lance (Voltron), Insecurity, Langst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Pain, Panic Attacks, Triggers, Vomiting, klangst, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22021351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/childofthemuses/pseuds/childofthemuses
Summary: Lance misses home. He really,reallymisses home.Guess this is why they call it 'homesick'.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron), Klance - Relationship
Comments: 32
Kudos: 379
Collections: Voltron Stars🌌





	My Lungs Feel So Small

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!  
> Please be aware of the trigger warnings - this will be heavy.  
> FYI, I would just like to state that I am not saying that this reaction is universal (just based off of my own experiences in life) and this is not a piece to glorify such illnesses (and I hope it doesn't present that way). I just...I wanted to give the impression of someone losing their way without necessarily knowing until it's too late. Mental health warps our reality.  
> Also I do not think the team are assholes....more on that at the end x
> 
> P.S. title from the song 'Hunger' by Of Monsters And Men

He didn’t initially notice when it started creeping back in.

He thought he had it under control. 

Clearly, he was wrong.

“Not hungry, Lance?” Hunk asks innocently as he makes the rounds with his pot for those after second helpings. Lance glances down at a plate which is practically still full: he had managed precisely 3 spoonfuls of food goo before he had given up, each swallow more difficult than the last.

Lance shrugs with his easy smile, “That’s what I get for snacking all afternoon, I guess. Used to drive my mama crazy.”

Oh god, his mama – the thought of her tugged at his chest painfully, and he fought to keep that smile in place. He knew the mask didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it should be enough to fool Hunk.

Hunk moves on easily enough, not sparing him a moment’s notice, and Lance quietly sighs. He had noticed the return, those old thoughts starting to trickle back in - he just hoped Hunk wouldn’t catch on before he had it back under control.

He had only just met Hunk the first time it started to happen: his friend was very aware of what Lance had put himself through back then. Lance had seen just how worried his newfound friend had been for him – he had vowed never to worry him like that again.

For good measure, when he knew Hunk was side-eyeing him, he gripped his spoon with white knuckles and shoved two more spoonfuls into his mouth before he could stop himself, desperately trying to ignore the guilt swirling and mixing with the contents in his stomach. God, he felt like he was going to be sick…

But, keeping up the act, he made a show of pushing the bowl away, rubbing at his belly and proclaiming to the room that he was stuffed.

Hunk was the only one who looked like he cared.

*****

He wished their rooms didn’t have mirrors.

That was one way he helped himself, last time. He removed the full length mirrors so he could hide from himself and not fixate.

Like he was now…

He could see himself doing it, but was powerless to stop himself.

_It’ll be fine…_

He stood in his boxers, twisting this way and that to try and get a view of each plane of his body. He brought up his phone and took pictures: he decided to keep a record of how he was now so that he could monitor if he was losing control. He could check regularly, make sure it wasn’t becoming obvious and he wasn’t doing too much damage – he could make sure not to worry anyone.

A positive use for the mirror at least.

He didn’t dislike what he saw: he had for so long, but these past couple of years he had finally felt settled in himself. These were _his_ arms, corded with lean muscle, his thighs, his chest, his belly…

This was him. He stared and stared, and told him he was happy with who stared back.

He didn’t know how long passed before he turned away.

*****

“Lance,” Shiro said loudly as he walked into the training room, his skin crawling as he felt four pairs of eyes land on him in judgement. “You’re late.”

“Sorry Shiro,” He said, fighting to keep his face neutral as his chest constricted. “I slept in.”

Shiro gave him a roll of his eyes _– ‘typical Lance’,_ he must be thinking – and turned away without another word.

Hunk elbowed his arm. “You missed breakfast,” He stated, using his well-practiced ‘I’m not judging I’m just stating’ voice.

“Eurgh, I know!” He cried with false remorse. “I’m starving dude. I didn’t hear my alarm!”

Only he did.

He had been awake before it had even gone off. He had gotten maybe…three hours of sleep? But he carried on fine – it wasn’t like that was anything new. Plus, he was a master at applying foundation over the black bags under his eyes at this point.

Lance had never slept great – well, hadn’t slept great since he moved away from his family in Cuba to start at the Garrison. He hadn’t realised how much he had counted on the rolling waves of the ocean at night to help him drift off to sleep, the touch of the sea breeze coming in through the window. He had tried sleeping listening to a recording of the ocean while a fan was blowing in his room, but it didn’t help. It just wasn’t the same: he missed home – simple as that.

*****

“Lance, you idiot!” Keith screamed at him through the comms. “Get out of the way!”

He barely dodged as Red’s laser shot past Blue’s snout, hitting the Galra fighter square in the wing and sending it spiralling away.

He didn’t have time right now to think about it, trying to stay in his right mind during the fight, doing what he could to distract himself from how his chest was growing tighter and tighter, his movements turning jittery as he felt like his brain was short circuiting.

Deep breaths.

_You idiot!_

Get on with it.

He could barely concentrate, hyper-focused with the idea that he was in the way of his teammates. God – he was probably going to get someone killed, all because he couldn’t get out of everyone’s way!

The fight seemed to take an age to conclude, Lance’s hands cramping from gripping Blue’s controls so tightly. _Just don’t make another mistake, just don’t make another mistake…_

“Good work team!” Shiro congratulated as they emerged from their lions in the Castle. “Well done on holding the formations!”

Keith, king of emo, was leaning against Red’s leg and brooding, arms crossed over his chest. He tossed his head, flipping his fringe to the side in a ridiculous fashion. “Lance needs to learn to watch what he’s doing.”

_Watch what he’s doing._

Oh god, that constricting pressure in his chest was growing at Keith’s comment, pressing in so that he struggled to breathe.

_You idiot!_

“I was going to let it slide,” Shiro said, turning a hard gaze on Keith, “But since you brought it up, Keith-”

Oh god, here we go. A chewing out in front of everyone. His legs felt like jelly – why can’t he breathe properly!?

“You broke formation and went barrelling into an area you weren’t supposed to be – Lance held the formation, he had that area covered. _You_ are the one to needs to learn what he’s doing.”

Keith scowled, “I saw a fighter, I took it out.”

“It was reckless.”

“It was necessary-”

The two began to bicker, Pidge Hunk and Lance slipping away. Those two could fight like brothers, and Lance had enough siblings to know that he didn’t want to get stuck in the middle of them.

Shiro had said it wasn’t his fault – that should make him feel better, right?

So why did he still feel this torturing pressure in his chest?

“Phew, I’m starving!” Pidge announced loudly, stretching their arms over their head before pulling their helmet off. “What’s for eating, Chef Hunk?”

Lance almost cringed at the idea – eating, _now?_ He barely had enough room in his chest to keep breathing, let alone have dinner.

“Not sure, Pidge,” Hunk considered. “Guess we’ll need to do some old fashioned cupboard raking. You in Lance?”

“Nah man,” He said, waving him off with a grin. “Too much adrenaline to eat right now! I’m going to have a shower and grab something later.”

It pleased him that Hunk still trusted him - that the lingering look of worry wasn’t in his eye.

He hoped he wouldn’t lose that trust.

*****

He missed his family.

Okay, that was an understatement.

He felt like he was _dying,_ cell by cell, without his family.

He felt like every mile they moved apart was another razorblade in his chest, a collection of viciously sharp metal clanging and slicing with each step, each rattled breath.

He felt like he was turning to sand, desperately trying to hold onto parts of himself as he was blown into the wind and lost amongst the stars.

He felt like he was never going to go home.

Never see his Abuela’s smile again, or be wrapped up safe in one of his mother’s hugs. Never be teased by Luis or Veronica, never fight with Marco again because he had snuck into his room and stolen his clothes.

Lance stared, took his pictures. He couldn’t tell if his ribs were becoming more pronounced or not, but he was too tired to work it out.

He collapsed onto his bed and, of course, couldn’t sleep.

*****

He thinks that Hunk is starting to suspect something.

Not enough to have brought it up with Lance, but enough that Lance could feel the watchful eye on him during meals. He tries to show enthusiasm, tries to head to the kitchen for meals when anyone but Hunk is around: he knew Hunk would subtly start checking in with the team about his eating habits. Having lunch with Pidge, or Keith, was perfect: both usually so preoccupied with their own thinking that they wouldn’t notice him push food from one side of his plate to the other before giving up and leaving. Then they would tell Hunk that he had eaten that day, and the pressure would be off.

He _knows_ Hunk suspects him when he turns up for dinner one night, and a shockingly familiar smell hits his nose, instantly bringing tears to his eyes before his brain can process why.

“What…?” Is all he can squeak.

He and Hunk are alone, for now. Hunk turns to him with a huge grinning smile, bringing the dish closer and setting it down on the table so Lance can get a look.

“Is…is this-” He stutters, the words not coming as he wipes at his eyes.

“Chicken and rice,” Hunk says proudly before thinking for a moment. “Well…the space version of chicken and rice. These things are neither chicken nor rice, but-”

Tears are freely running down Lance’s face now, and Hunk stops talking to draw him into a hug, letting Lance bury his face into his chest.

“It smells just like-”

“Like your mama’s, yeah.” Hunk says, pulling back to hold Lance’s shoulders and look down at him. “Remember, she sent me the recipe a few years ago?”

And Lance does remember.

It makes his blood turn cold

_Remember, she sent me the recipe a few years ago?_

What Hunk doesn’t add on is: _remember, she sent me the recipe a few years ago when you were sick?_

_When we were all going crazy with worry, because of you._

_When your mama phoned you crying after the Garrison let her know what was happening?_

_You were really sick?_

_You upset everyone else?_

_Remember?_

Lance’s tongue has turned to lead in his throat and he swallows uneasily, not knowing what to say. Hunk takes it as him being overwhelmed with emotion and Lance doesn’t correct him. Before Hunk can say anything else the rest of the team arrive, crying a chorus of ‘ _what smells so good’_ and ‘ _yay, no food goo!’._ Everyone excitedly takes their seat around the table, Hunk passing plates out to them all.

“Hunk, this is amazing!” Shiro says. “Where did you learn to cook it?”

“It’s Lance’s mum’s recipe,” Hunk says, and Lance feels the eyes descend. He fidgets with his fork, trying to hide the shake in his hands as he prepares to take a bite. “She gave it to me a few years ago when he was homesick…”

Lance lets his ears filter out Hunk’s conversation: he can’t bear to listen to this skeleton of a story, sharing the bare minimum when the reason for the story existing is danced around. He’s so shameful he has to hide a part of his past from everyone or they would know just how weak he was.

‘Chicken’ sits on the end of his fork, and he stares down at it with intensity. It smells phenomenal, he can’t disagree. But it’s almost too painful - what happens when it’s gone? That piece of home, gone in the blink of an eye.

‘ _It’s not right’_ , he thinks, unable to bring it closer. ‘ _This isn’t Mamma’s chicken and rice. It’s not even_ chicken _and_ rice!’ He’s so far from home, the strings of his heart being tugged by this imitation-

His phone buzzes and he jumps, scattering grains of ‘rice’ on the table.

“You’re such a klutz!” Pidge cries with laughter.

Lance’s cheeks bloom red, ducking his head to read the message:

**I** **t’s okay – I can make it again.  
** **Enjoy it.  
Hunk x**

Lance looks up and meets his eye across the table, the warm of his gaze soothing his tense muscles. He takes a deep breath and, closing his eyes, puts the fork into his mouth…

Oh my god…

He’s transported. Transported right back to his family’s dining table, feeling elbows in his ribs whilst he and his siblings fight for a plate and their mother tuts and shakes her head, calling them all animals. He remembers wolfing down his meal as fast as possible, desperate to be one of the first finished so that he could have a second helping before his siblings could eat everything. He hears the sound of his father coming home halfway through dinner, sees the sweet smile he always gave his mother before kissing her on the cheek and whispering ‘ _Hola, hermosa’._

And just as quick his body is flung back across stars and space, thrown violently back into his current life, staring down at his empty plate with disappointment. He feels full, fit to bursting.

His mama would have been so happy that he cleared his plate.

“I-I need to go,” He stammers and stands suddenly, his knees knocking the table and causing cutlery to clatter.

“Lance?” Hunk asks, concerned.

“I just- I need some time alone,” He says, feeling emotion starting to clog his throat. He turns, trying to hide how glassy his eyes have gotten but is certain he doesn’t fool anyone.

He leaves before anyone can say anything to him.

Lance practically sprints to his room, pacing back and forth, back and forth. His gut is _churning,_ coiling like angry snakes in his belly.

Oh god…

That tight feeling in his chest is back.

_She sent me the recipe._

_Hola, hermosa._

_Why, Lance – why are you doing this to us?_

He pulls at his hair, trying to distract himself from the voices pressing close, how shallow his breaths are becoming. God he feels so full, too full, he’s going to burst at the seams…

_How can we help-_

_What can we do-_

_We’re so worried-_

_You’re scaring us-_

He collapses on the floor, managing to grab the small bin in his room before he is retching. He can’t breathe as his muscles spasm, losing the meal, the memories. There’s an acrid taste of bile across his tongue when he’s finished, but it’s worth it to feel so blissfully empty again.

He takes a deep breath, and savours how his lungs can fill now.

He spits pathetically into the bin, trying to shift that taste, before sitting back on his heels and rubbing at his face.

He glances up briefly, catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

Were the shadows under his cheekbones always that deep?

*****

The taste of bile is still on his tongue, no matter how many times he brushes his teeth.

Even when his gums started bleeding, the bite of iron wasn’t strong enough to cover it.

He couldn’t pretend at dinner that night: the idea of putting anything else in his mouth sickened him. He couldn’t – he couldn’t do it.

Hunk’s eyes bore into him, and he gets up and leaves.

He takes his pictures, notes how noticeable his abs are.

Huh, his abs hadn’t looked so clear-cut in years…

*****

“Lance,” Hunks voice is soft, persistent, “You need to talk to me.”

“What’s up buddy?” Lance grins, but he already knows it looks fake. He’s so tired – if _only_ he could get a decent night’s sleep.

“It’s happening again,” Hunk says, the return of the ‘I’m not judging, just worried’ voice.

He raises an eyebrow, playing dumb. “What’s happening?”

“Please, please don’t be like this,” Hunk begs him, reaching out to touch his shoulder but Lance flinches back.

“I’m not being like anything, Hunk,” He says, trying his best not to sound defensive, “But I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Hunk lets it drop, those sad eyes weighing down on Lance’s chest. He leaves and heads to the bathroom, pulling out his makeup and works on reducing the harshness of the shadows under his cheeks, his jaw. He looks at his face, pretty sure that he looks just like he always has.

What was Hunk worrying himself for?

*****

It was all under control.

Lance knew it was under his control.

He couldn’t stand being around Hunk right now, couldn’t bear to have Hunk look at him like he didn’t trust him anymore. It made the guilt rise up and lash again, thrashing inside of him.

So he avoided Hunk.

Because Hunk was worrying for nothing.

And Hunk’s worrying would bring back all those old feelings.

And he had been doing so well.

*****

He turned, catching sight of each plane of his body, stretching this way and that and craning his neck.

He didn’t know what he had been worrying about: he looked great. He was probably in better shape than he had been in a long time.

He took a deep breath and sighed, frowning as he saw how his tummy sagged on the exhale.

Lance cocked his head, running his fingers over the skin and staring critically.

Guess there was always room for improvement…

*****

Lance found himself spending a lot of time in the training room, running simulations and trying to push himself further.

It was a good distraction from the burn of Hunk’s eyes on his back.

His breath was ragged, limbs already shaking from the strain of the work out, but it was fine. It was good. He felt strong, he felt focused.

At some point Keith joined him, each taking up half the room and working on their own. He paused for a break and pulled out two water pouches, throwing one in Lance’s direction with a raised eyebrow.

“Tired already?” Lance teased, trying to control how fast his breaths were coming.

“I just know when to let my body rest,” Keith said with a shrug. There was no dig in the comment that Lance could find, yet it still left him feeling judged – like Keith knew better and Lance was being an idiot, showing himself up as usual.

He sipped from the pouch in silence, leaning back against the wall.

“How are you getting on?” Keith asked.

Lance’s gut coiled with suspicion: what has Hunk been saying to them? Are they all going to turn those burning eyes on him, watching his every move and telling him they know what’s best-

“Like, with your training,” Keith explained at Lance’s look of confusion.

“Oh,” Lance said, brain taking a minute to derail from that train of thought. “Erm good, I think?” He shrugged, “It’s hard to judge for myself, you know?”

Keith nodded, thinking as he sipped his water. “You know,” He said slowly, as if scared of what he was about to ask, “I could run some hand-to-hand drills with you, if you would like? Give you an update on where you’re at?”

Lance found himself smiling, nodding enthusiastically. “That would be great – you sure?”

The red paladin shrugged, “It would be beneficial for me too. That is, if you can pose a challenge to me.”

Those words lit a fire in Lance, had him pushing harder than he usually would in a session with Keith. He knew he was unlikely to win, but he still wanted to be able to put up a decent fight.

They went a couple of rounds, each ending with Lance pinned to the mat and panting from exertion. Keith would extend a hand and help him stand, giving him a few minutes to compose himself before slipping back into his fighting stance and they would go again.

It was good: such a different feeling to how Hunk had been treating him like glass recently. It was rough and it was difficult, but he enjoyed the hit against his skin each time he managed to block, learned something new each time he was pinned.

Lance lay on the ground and, with a grin, waved an imaginary white flag in the air. “Okay, that’s it, I concede.”

Keith raised a brow, pulling him back to his feet. “Done already?”

“Hey, I just know when to let my body rest!” Lance said mockingly, feeling pride blossom as that earns him a chuckle from Keith.

“You’ve certainly improved from where you were when we first joined Voltron,” Keith told him. Lance felt how his smile widened at that. “I can see how your way of thinking during the fight has changed,” Keith continued on, ignoring the way Lance was practically vibrating with excitement. “It’s more instinctual. I think all you need to do is put on a bit of muscle and you could really begin holding your own.”

He felt his smile fall. “Muscle?”

“Well, yeah,” Keith said offhandedly. “Right now you’re so light I can practically throw you around – you need a little more weight to help solidify your stances.”

Lance hummed, nodding his head to himself and taking another water pouch to avoid talking anymore.

“I have a great diet for bulking up I worked out with Hunk a little while ago if you would like to try it?” Keith offered.

He sounded like he was forcing himself to sound so casual.

A new diet? For bulking up?

This didn’t seem so innocent anymore.

“Maybe,” Lance said, feeling his voice grow cold but not having the energy to try and mask it.

“I’m headed to the kitchen now actually,” Keith continued, either ignoring Lance’s tone or completely oblivious to it. “We could talk about it a bit more – I could even rustle us something up. It won’t be as good as Hunk, but it should be at least edible.”

“No thanks,” Lance said, turning away and grabbing his stuff. “I already ate. Think I’m just going to grab a shower.”

“Oh,” Keith said, masking his disappointment.

Lance waved as he left, not turning to look back at him, “Catch you later.”

“Yeah,” Keith said, voice small. “Later.”

*****

He passed Hunk on the way to the showers and Lance felt the anger overflow. Suddenly he was up in the yellow paladin’s face, pointing an accusing finger. “Stop talking about my business with the entire ship!”

Hunk’s face was slack with shock, eyes darting across Lance’s expression in panic as he tried to work out what was going on. “Lance?”

“I know you’ve been talking to Keith,” Lance spat, feeling venomous. “If you can’t stop yourself making up drama at least do me the favour of keeping me out of it!”

“I haven’t said anything to Keith?” Hunk said, reaching out for Lance but the blue paladin quickly stepped away.

“I don’t need your help.” Lance felt his body turning to stone: cold and ageless, the scowl on his face permanent. “Stop telling yourself I do so that you can feel useful for once.”

Hunk gasped, “Lance-”

But he was done.

He left, ignoring Hunk calling after him.

*****

_1, 2, 3…_

He had heard knocking at his door earlier but had ignored it, pretending he wasn’t here. Whoever had been there had given up quickly, leaving him to his own devices.

_4,_

_5,_

_6…_

He felt sick, that swirling guilt rising again as he pictured Hunk’s shocked face. Lance hadn’t meant to blindside him like that, but he was so angry and tired of Hunk’s meddling: he just had to tell him to cut it out.

He was fine.

Hunk constantly poking and prodding was what was going to make him sick again.

_7, 8…_

And he didn’t want to get sick again.

He had fought so hard to get over it last time – but he knew what he was doing now. He knew how to keep control this time.

_9…_

His mama would be so proud with how he was looking after himself.

_10…_

His phone dinged, drawing his attention and distracting him. He huffed a breath in aggravation at the interruption, unlocking the phone to read a message that made him angry all over again.

**I didn’t say anything to him.  
Hunk x**

Lance threw his phone down with little regard, not caring at this moment if the thing smashed into a million pieces. God, he had tried to be up front with Hunk – why couldn’t the guy just accept what Lance had said to him and move on? Lance just wanted to move past it.

He focused back in on the mirror, staring at his torso. Where was he...

Oh yeah.

_11…_

He traced his fingers over his chest, feeling the ridges of his ribs beneath taught skin. Watching how they moved with each breath.

His fingertip followed the graceful curve of his bottom rib, one side then the other. He looked up and met the reflection of his blue eyes.




He dropped his hand and stared, enjoying what he saw.

 _12 pairs_.

12 pairs of ribs, their press against his skin stark in the low lighting of his room, each curving bone embellished with its own shadow.

He took a deep breath, watching how they moved as one, rising and shifting shadows across his skin.

He smiled, and found himself counting them all over again.

*****

He felt dazed, as though working through a fog as lasers shot past Blue in blinding flashes of red. He absently knew he was a disaster on the battlefield, no help to anyone as his reaction time slowed to a snail’s pace. He should be tense with anxiety, his thoughts going a mile a minute as he tried to stop being the team screw-up.

He was too tired to care.

He just needed a good night’s sleep – if he could get a decent night’s sleep he wouldn’t be so absent right now. He wouldn’t possibly be putting his team at risk, the pathetic weak link in their defences-

He didn’t even have the anxiety to drive him to be better. He was just numb: the voice in his head telling him he needed to move faster, be better, a mere whisper, its words lost amongst the haze. Every move felt like moving through heavy treacle, his body slow and uncoordinated as Blue shuddered from another direct laser strike.

_Someone was going to get hurt…_

He _was going to get someone hurt!_

Frustration to his numbness flickered at his core, screaming at him to thaw and care. Tears built in his eyes from just how useless he was to the fog weighing him down, how disconnected he felt from his body. This need to care was trapped and useless, crying out for help and left unheeded-

_He was going to get-_

His world flipped as something slammed into the side of Blue. An alarm blared, and everything went black.

*****

Lance’s head was pounding, he sat hunched over, avoiding eye contact with Coran as he held a cold pack to the lump on the back of his head.

“Everything looks good to me, Number 3,” Coran said, not looking up from his screen showing Lance’s test results. “I don’t think your brains got too scrambled, you’ll just have that bump for a few more days.”

Lance shifted the cold pack, turning his head to peer at Coran. “So…can I go?”

Coran nodded, looking over to him. “You’ve got a clear bill of health from me. Though, there _is_ something I want to talk to you about.”

Coran’s face grew shadowed with concern, his eyes heavy with worry as he began to say-

“I better run, Coran!” Lance said, jumping up too fast so his head spun. He dropped the cold pack to the table and grabbed his stuff, practically running from the infirmary as he shouted over his shoulder, “I need to check if Blue is okay!”

Coran was left standing alone, the weight section on Lance’s medical records flashing a warning red on his screen.

*****

Lance felt terrible.

Blue had a massive dent in her side from where the Galra fighter had kamikazed into them, bursting into a fireball and sending Blue – and Lance – rattling head-over-heels through space. The explosion had scrapped her paint, leaving her side a mess of silver scratches, and Lance could sense her anguish through their bond.

He sighed, feeling guilt as he stroked the metal of her leg. “I’m sorry girl,” He said, feeling her reassuring rumble back to him through their bond.

“You okay?”

Lance jumped as he realised he wasn’t alone, spinning on his heels to find Keith standing behind him, long changed out of his armour. Lance looked down at himself, realising he was still in his black body suit after he had had his armour removed in the infirmary.

“Sorry,” Keith said, raising his hands in a non-threatening way. “I was with Red and I saw you come in, and just wanted to check in. You took a nasty hit.”

Lance’s cheeks reddened, embarrassment rising in his chest from how the battle had gone down. He had completely shut down: he had no idea why and he had no excuse-

“Allura said Blue will be fine,” Keith pressed, nodding his head in the direction of the damage. “The lions have faced worse than that before – the Castle will fix her right up.”

Lance turned back to Blue, touching a hand to the cool metal and feeling her agree with what Keith was telling him. “I’m glad,” He said, the knowledge doing little to make him feel better.

“You know-” Keith started to say.

Oh god, here we go. This is where Keith pointed out what an idiot Lance was, despite him already knowing full well. That guilt shifted to anger as Lance turned back to Keith, pointing an accusing finger at him, “I don’t need you to tell me what a screw-up I am, Keith. I know I messed up today, why can’t you keep your nose out and worry about yourself?”

Keith’s face blanched momentarily, quickly shifting into a deep scowl. “That’s not what I was going to say-”

“ _Sure_ ,” Lance scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Hey!” Keith snapped, his temper rising to meet Lance’s, “It’s not my fault that you and Blue got hit. I just want to help-”

“I don’t need your help!” Lance found himself shouting, his voice echoing between the pair of them in the large hangar. “I don’t need anyone’s help – I’m fine by myself! Just, just – just leave me alone!”

He stormed past before Keith could see the tears building in his eyes, Blue trying to calm him through their bond. He ended up in his room, locking his door after him like he had started doing over the last week. It made him feel safer: a part of him didn’t trust his team to respect his boundaries.

He had been so worried about losing the trust of his team – when had he lost trust in them?

*****

Keith ran a hand through his hair, unsure what he was supposed to do.

He was scared.

 _Lance_ was scaring him.

Regular old Lance, who infuriated him with their non-existent rivalry and confused him with his constant use of references that Keith didn’t understand. The way Lance had stood in front of him, hunched like a scared animal, eyes wild and ready to attack if provoked – it wasn’t the boy Keith had grown to know on the team anymore. His face scrunched and held in a tight snarl, a warning mask designed to keep Keith at bay. But it wasn’t Lance’s face that Keith kept finding his eyes drawn to.

He had counted 12 too.

*****

Lance didn’t turn up for meals anymore.

He couldn’t face the probing eyes, staring at him critically. Judging every failed mouthful, each successful swallow earning a look of patronising joy. He couldn’t stand it, avoiding their eyes and staring down at his never-ending meal, spoon shaking in his tight grip.

So, he stopped going.

He began avoiding the others altogether – he couldn’t trust Hunk and Keith, didn’t want to know what they had said to the team. More than once he had seen Shiro surveying him with his brow knitted with worry, seemingly unsure of something to say.

He looked at his reflection, and felt nothing. He was too tired to care if his ribs were sticking out a little more than they should, or if his sallow eyes were too large for his face – it was his body, why was he so worried about what the others were thinking of him?

He grabbed his phone, scrolling through his catalogue of photos and deleting them without a second thought before roughly casting the device aside.

He sighed deeply, feeling like a weight had been removed from his chest.

*****

Trying to get to sleep was pointless.

Lance was at the stage of just getting on with his life – training, playing videogames, aimlessly wandering – until he simply and blissfully passed out for a short time. He really should ask Coran for something to help him sleep, but with the look the older man had given him in the medbay, he had been especially careful to avoid him these past few days.

He had learned a long time ago that when people had eyes like that, you didn’t want to hear what they had to say.

The castle was a blessing: its winding corridors went on forever, leading him to concealed rooms that hadn’t had a living being in them in the last ten thousand years. He could wander blindly, not having to think about much, and safe in the knowledge that he wouldn’t run into anyone.

It helped to calm him – eased his chaotic thoughts.

Until he returned to his room and they all came crashing back.

His breath felt as though it had been punched from his gut as he stepped into his room and knew something was _wrong._

Someone had been here.

Something was gone.

He was frozen as his eyes traced the room slowly, taking a long moment to realise what had been taken. When he worked out what had changed, he felt sick to his stomach.

The mirror was gone.

His full length mirror had disappeared. Poof. Gone, seemingly in an instant. His legs grew shaky and he found himself kneeling on the ground, staring at the empty space on the wall.

The mirror was gone. That meant Hunk thought there was something wrong with him. That meant that Hunk was sticking his nose in – that he had likely told the rest of the team and they had decided to come into his room, invade his privacy, and steal his belongings without so much as a warning.

His skin itched: it felt like he had ants crawling beneath it, tracing goosebumps into the flesh and making him want to claw his skin off. He was literally shaking with anger, with fear in the knowledge that the team didn’t trust him.

The team didn’t trust him with something as basic as a _mirror._

His slip-up the other day echoed in his mind, and he felt sick to his stomach with shame. That must be it, the final straw that pushed them to do this?

He needed to make up his mistake to them – prove that he wasn’t the weak link.

*****

“Shit – we’re not getting anywhere!” Pidge shouted down the comms.

“Pidge, language!” Shiro chastised before adding, “But you’re right. We might need to pull out.”

Lance was too tired, too focused on attempting to stay focused, that he didn’t even notice the opportunity to make a patented crude joke. As dire as the situation was, the team couldn’t help but notice the silence that should have been filled with an eye-rolling quip. He must be sick: as he fired off rounds he felt himself growing woozy, being forced to sit and take a few deep breaths before getting his head back in order and returning to the job at hand

Lance leaned forwards, firing off a round to fell the Galra sentries sneaking up behind Hunk. They were overrun, it was clear to see. They had snuck into the warehouse all bundled into the Green Lion, hoping to uncover whatever secret project Zarkon had been working on. Instead, they had found the Emporer himself with his generals and sentries waiting in tow to ambush the team.

“Do we have an exit strategy?” Hunk shouted.

“Not to worry, paladins,” Coran’s voice came through the comms. “Allura and I can create a distraction for you to get back to the Green Lion.”

“We are so close to breaking through,” Keith said, grunting with the force of blocking a strike. “We’re not going to get another opportunity like this.”

“I understand what you mean Keith,” Shiro assured him, “But if the choice is between us discovering Zarkon’s plans or getting out of here alive, well…it’s not much of a choice. Team, prepare to fall back on Coran’s mark.”

Lance had eyes on the entrance to the concealed hangar, keeping a close watch on Keith as he attempted to press forwards despite Shiro’s order. Zarkon wasn’t even amongst the battle: instead standing on the edges with a sadistic grin as Team Voltron struggled to keep their heads on their shoulders. He knew they wouldn’t get past: was there even anything behind there? What if all of the rumours had been a rouse to bring them here?

Lance couldn’t believe that – they were risking their lives here, there had to be something behind that door. Why else would Zarkon actually bother to show up – he knew how his presence would rattle the paladins, did he want them focused on him instead of what was being hidden?

They had taken too much of a risk to give up now without finding out if there was anything here.

“Now, paladins!” Coran’s voice reached his ears a split second before the entire warehouse shook violently as the Castle opened fire. The purple of Galran lights changed to a red as a siren blared, most of the sentries freezing as they received updated information and new orders.

This was their chance, to turn tail and run. Get out of here.

They had taken too much of a risk to leave empty handed!

They didn’t know Lance’s exact position – he had been moving in the shadows, firing and then moving to make sure they didn’t clock him as a sitting duck. He was close, he could make it. In and out, then straight back to the team.

It would make up for his mistake, right? Surely this would be enough to show them he could be trusted.

Not pondering it a second longer he moved, keeping low and sprinting as fast as he could to the hangar. With the other paladins evacuating the sentries’ focus was on them, heavy robotic footfalls loud as they gave chase. The hangar was unguarded, he could do this-

He could do something useful.

He could do something his team couldn’t do.

He wasn’t the weak link.

He could save the mission-

He was so close: the panel to open the door was within reach. He raised his hand, silently thanking Pidge for kitting out all of their gloves with a Galran imprint they had modelled from Keith. He just had to put his hand down and the system would recognise him. Easy-

He could do this-

Oh god, he was so lightheaded. He felt shaky on his feet, fighting to keep his arm moving, keep it steady. He was so close-

He-

He stopped.

He didn’t mean to, yet here he was. Frozen in his tracks, legs refusing to take another step forwards.

What was going on-?

His legs gave out and his knees hit the ground with a heavy thud, the hit reverberating up his spine and making him cry out as pain exploded in his abdomen.

What-?

“Lance? Lance? Do you read me?” Shiro’s voice was loud, insistent in his ear. “Where the hell are you?” 

Lance looked down, eyes growing wide as he noted the glowing purple tip of a sword protruding from his stomach, having sliced through his armour as though it were nothing. He looked over his shoulder to see Zarkon appraising him curiously, the handle of his chain-sword firmly in his grip. Red was spilling, spreading out over the blue of his armour and dripping to the floor.

“I-” God his mouth was so dry. “I-I’m down.”

The sword was yanked brutally from his gut, and Lance felt himself slip away as he fell forwards, the concerned shouts of his teammates a distant buzz on the edge of his consciousness.

*****

_“Mijo, what have you done?”_

_“Why, Lance, why?”_

_“You’re scaring us.”_

_“You’re not yourself.”_

_“You can’t do this.”_

_“Just stop!”_

_“You need help!”_

_“Come home!”_

_“Come home with us!”_

_“I’m frightened to leave you alone.”_

*****

His head swam, the light behind his closed eyelids too bright. He tried to turn, to nuzzle into his pillow and hide in the dark. Something tugged on his cheek as he moved, he-

“Lance!”

His eyes opened to find several sets of hands hovering over him, as though afraid to actually touch him. He smiled weakly as he tried to sit up before collapsing back onto the bed with a pained groan.

“Take it easy, Lance,” Shiro told him, a steady hand on his shoulder.

“W-what happened?” His throat was parched, the words cracking and quiet as he said them.

“You got hurt,” Allura said, her face coming into view. Everyone was there, staring down at him with those large concerned eyes. It made his skin crawl, being under this much scrutiny. “You’re in the medbay.”

The medbay?

He looked down at himself where he lay on the hospital cot, his chest shirtless with several sensors attached to his skin, the edges of crisp white bandages binding his abdomen poking out just beyond the bed covers.

Had he already been in the healing pods?

He tried to sit up again, grunting as an intense pain lanced through his middle, leaving him gasping and more hands coming to press him back into the bed.

“Just relax, Lance,” Hunk said, keeping his distance from his bed-bound friend. “You’re alright.”

“You gave us quite a scare, m’boy,” Coran said, scrolling through his tablet of med reports. “Noble thing you tried to do-”

“Stupid, more like,” Keith snapped, standing with his hands crossed at the end of the bed.

“Not the time Keith,” Shiro firmly told him, ignoring Keith’s indignant scowl.

“How did I get here?” Lance felt his muscles relaxing back into the bed, much of his pain abating as he noticed Coran injecting something into his fluid line.

“What do you remember?” Allura asked, laying a light hand over his.

“I…” He bit at his lip, trying to piece it all together. “I remember…Zarkon. I remember trying to get into the hangar. Um…”

He remembered the feeling of the sword slicing through his flesh as though it were nothing. He remembered the feeling of his blood spilling out of him, the metallic stink. He remembered falling, hitting the ground. He-

“It gets a bit blurry after that,” He tells them, trying to shy away from reliving it once more.

“Zarkon had left for his ship – the sentries were dragging you after him,” Shiro told him, his hand a firm pressure on his shoulder to keep him in the bed. “Keith took them out-”

“Sliced their heads clean off,” Pidge added in.

“And we tried to get you back here as fast as possible,” Shiro finished. “You were bleeding a lot.”

“And _then_ we had the pod issues-” Pidge’s eyes grew wide as the rest of the team turned and silenced her with a universal glare, killing the words on her lips.

“Pod issues?” Lance asked. Of course something had happened – why else would he be left to lie in bed unhealed? They must be malfunctioning – just his luck.

“It doesn’t matter,” Shiro told him, his face an impassive mask of concern that made unease crawl in Lance’s gut.

“I don’t believe you,” He said truthfully, his voice sounding hollow in his ears.

“Lance-” Hunk tried to reach for his forearm but Lance flinched back before he could touch him. The room was silent for a solid minute as the team tried to silently communicate something while Lance was lying below them in the bed, confused and uneasy.

“Oh for Christ’s sake – he’s an adult, we shouldn’t be keeping this from him!” Keith’s hands gripped the end of Lance’s bed as he growled at his team. He raised his dark eyes to Lance’s, holding steady eye contact as he spoke as though he were ripping off a band aid: remaining firm and getting it over with as quickly and cleanly as possible. “Look – you’re too skinny to go in the pods. As you are right now, you would die before the pods could heal you.”

His gut fell in his chest with a sagging feeling: like a tyre with a puncture he felt as though he were simply deflating, unable to draw a decent breath to clear the fog of drugs starting to cloud him. He looked to Coran, the man busy staring intensely down at his tablet screen. “Is-” Lance licked his lips, wishing someone would give him a glass of water. But now was not the time to ask. “Is that true?”

Coran sighed, holding the tablet to his chest as though he were a small child finding comfort in a stuffed toy. “The pods work by increasing your metabolic rate and thereby increasing the rate of your body’s ability to heal. That’s why the pods can’t heal any injury – they are limited by your personal capacity to heal.”

Allura cut in, sensing a tangent into healing pod technology and trying to keep Coran on topic. “You see, Lance – when your metabolic rate increases, your body’s requirements for energy also increase. Your body will use the energy sources available to it and breakdown stored fats – even muscle, if there isn’t enough fat available.”

Coran stepped closer to stand at Allura’s side. “This is a serious injury Lance – with the amount of healing you require your body would burn through all of your reserves well before the process was complete.”

“W-what does that mean?”

“It means,” Coran said, averting his eyes, “That best case scenario, you would come out of the pod completely emaciated and still only be partially healed.”

“And…worst case scenario?” He knew he didn’t want to know the answer – he knew a part of him already understood what would happen.

“You die in the pod,” Allura told him softly. No ifs nor buts – if he went in the pod one of two horrible things would happen to him. So, instead, the only choice left was to be stuck in this bed and heal the old-fashioned way.

“Tell him the rest,” Keith snarled.

“Keith, give him some time to-” Shiro started.

“No Shiro – he has a right to know!”

Usually Lance would make fun of how emo Keith was being, with his arms folded tightly across his chest and his mullet practically _bristling_ as he made a scene _._ Only, what Keith had said had struck a chord of fear in his chest. “What’s he talking about?”

“Don’t worry about it, Lance,” Shiro said, looking him in the face – but not quite the eye.

Self-conscious, Lance reached a hand tentatively to his cheek, feeling the narrow tube that crept from behind his ear across his face to disappear into his nose. “What the hell is this?” He exclaimed, hand shaking against the plastic tube.

“Lance, please-” Allura tried.

“No!” He shouted, other hand fisting in the sheets. He needed something to grip onto – something to keep him grounded. “Tell me.”

“You haven’t been eating Lance.” He hated how Shiro stated it as fact – he knew, they all _knew_.

“Hunk!” He cried, betrayal settling at his core. He had suspected Hunk’s involvement for a while, yes – but a part of him had never believed that Hunk would actually tell his secrets without his consent.

“I’m sorry Lance – I was worried!” Hunk was crying, wrapping his arms around himself as though to keep the guilt from bursting out.

“What is this?” Lance asked again, drawing attention back to the tube. He suspected what it could be – but they wouldn’t, they _couldn’t_ do that to him.

“We need to be sure you’re keeping up your strength-” Allura tried to tell him.

“WHAT IS IT!”

“It’s for feeding you,” Keith snapped, “Against your will.”

“Keith!” Shiro and Allura shouted simultaneously.

Lance felt numb, fingertips brushing against the plastic. This was it – they truly had lost all faith in him. He felt devastated, a hollow cold in his chest growing to press up against his rib cage that made him just want to curl up in a ball and cry.

“Lance, Lance!” Hunk was trying to get his attention, hand hovering but coming no closer to touch him, “We’re just trying to help.”

“Help?!” Keith snapped. “How is this helping him? You’re just forcing him to do what you want – how is that going to make him better?”

Shiro was trying to reason with the red paladin. “He’ll die if he won’t eat Keith-”

“Has anyone even tried to talk to him?”

“I have-” Hunk said.

“Really?” Keith asked. “From the sounds of it, you were monitoring him. Has anyone even asked what’s _wrong?!”_

They continued to argue above him, but he couldn’t hear a word. He felt sick – felt as though he could feel the warped plastic in his throat, his chest, his stomach. He felt overwhelmingly full, his stomach churning and bubbling and rumbling around what was being done to it. He was going to be sick, he was-

The first retch hit the back of his throat and he had had enough. His fingers gripped and clawed, pulling at the tube – get it out, get it out! It was a sickening feeling, how he could feel it coming out, dragged from his core. This horrible thing that he had had no choice over being done to him felt as though it were clinging to him, refusing to be removed as his fingers scrabbled against the plastic.

“Stop Lance!” He wasn’t sure who said it but suddenly those hovering hands landed and gripped, not afraid anymore as they wrenched his hand from his face. He shrieked, trying to pull against their strong grips, feeling his abdomen grow hot and wet in his struggles but he didn’t care: they couldn’t do this, they couldn’t take this choice from him. Not like this-

“Lance, please.” Hunk was crying hard enough that the tears fell from his face to land on Lance’s cheeks. “Please, stop – we’re just trying to help.”

Keith looked sick, frozen at the end of the bed as he watched Hunk and Shiro gripping Lance’s arms hard enough to bruise, holding them down at the blue paladin’s side.

“Get it out!” Lance screamed, refusing to stop struggling and squirming against them. “Get it out of me!”

“Coran!” Shiro shouted.

“Coming!”

“Get it out, get it out!” Lance slammed his head against his pillow, shaking his head, trying anything he could to dislodge the tube from his nose. “Get it OUT!”

Coran approached with a syringe, undoing the cap on Lance’s fluid line. Lance shook his head, ruffling his hair into a manic mess against the pillow as he begged, “No - no Coran, don’t!”

With a look of genuine regret in his eyes, Coran drew his eyes away as he said, “I am sorry, m’boy.”

Lance continued to struggle as the syringe of white liquid was slowly emptied into his fluid line. He felt his body growing numb, a horrifying weight as he was trapped in a body that wouldn’t move. He fell back against the bed, arms barely straining against the hands anymore.

He felt wetness on his face – no longer just from Hunk. Tears spilled over the edges of his eyes as he met the eyes of his teammates, so desperate to help, all staring on with concern and worry. All determined to do whatever it took to make him well.

Except Keith. Keith, who’s eyes shone with anger, violent and lashing. Who’s body was tense, trembling with rage as he clenched his jaw tight. Remorse flashed through the dark depths as he met Lance’s eyes, guilty at being unable to stop what was happening.

“Please,” Lance whispered to him, the word barely passing his lips before finally he slipped away, growing completely limp in the arms of his teammates.

*****

“Oh quiznak – he’s opened his wound back up.” Coran set about undoing the bandages around Lance’s middle, taking note of the fresh blood oozing from the stab wound. “Pidge, I need fresh bandages over here.”

Keith looked on as the team fussed around the edges of Lance’s bed, carrying on as though the previous scene had not just happened. He stayed in place as he watched them work, guiltless in their idea that they were helping.

“Are you guys serious?” Keith snapped, feeling the overwhelming urge to punch something – someone.

“We’re helping, Keith,” Allura said, rattling off her self-believed lie.

“How can you call this helping?”

“He’s weak, he’s delirious, he’s hurt. For now, we need to focus on getting him his strength back. Then we can get to the bottom of why he’s been doing this to himself.”

Keith felt sick, how clinical their evaluation was. He felt the dam breaking – he needed to leave, get away from his team before he did something he regretted. Through grit teeth, he hissed, “You don’t know what you’re doing – you’re just making it worse.”

Unable to take anymore, he left the room, powerless to keep the team from their desperate mission to save Lance.

*****

Next time he came around, his brain felt like it was trapped under a heavy cloud, keeping him pinned down into the bed. His stomach churned, the effects of the sedative lingering to keep him in this slow, nauseous limbo.

His wrists were bound to the sides of the hospital cot by his waist – likely to keep him from trying to remove the tube again. The straps were brown with thick white padding to ensure they were comfortable, just tight enough to keep him from slipping his hands out without cutting off blood circulation. But it didn’t matter how comfortable they were, how you dressed them up – at the end of the day, handcuffs were handcuffs.

*****

They kept coming by: one at a time, sometimes in pairs, never the whole group so as not to overwhelm him.

It didn’t matter who visited: he didn’t want to talk to anyone. They came and sat at his bedside, updated him on the comings and goings of the Castle and he sat there silently and let them think he was listening.

He liked when Keith came by though. The red paladin took a chair and sat at Lance’s side and never said a word, spending his time glaring at the door. Lance suspected that he only came by to fill a seat and give Lance a break from the others: he didn’t care if it was true or not, he appreciated the respite from the chatter. The pair of them sat in comfortable silence, Lance knowing that if he wanted to start speaking Keith would happily join in. But he wanted to be quiet, and Keith silently respected that.

The tube continued to steadily feed him, firmly kept in place. He had stopped fighting the cuffs now, having given in and just letting it happen. He was tired, he was sore and (in more than once sense of the word) he was hurt. He was in no shape to fight a losing battle. But every second that passed he felt more resentment build in his chest, more anger because he didn’t have a choice anymore.

He missed Blue. He missed flying, and fighting for freedom, sick of being stuck with his thoughts in this bed, left to heal and get better while everyone else was out saving the universe.

He felt worse than useless.

*****

The blare of the Castle alarms jolted him awake, Coran’s voice booming over the speakers.

“To your lions paladins – we’ve got a Galran fleet incoming!”

Lance automatically sat up, muscle memory jumping to action before realising the cuffs still held him down. He held his breath, listening for the imminent rumbles of explosions beyond the Castle walls.

“Hey!” He shouted, hoping someone could hear him. “Hey! What’s happening?”

The paladins had been called out on several missions while Lance had been bed-bound – apparently they had been getting on fine without him. But this was an attack so close to home, he wanted to help!

“Hey! Let me out!”

He pulled with against the cuffs with vigour he didn’t previously possess – while they had tied him down and kept him locked away in the medbay, Voltron was still his family. He wanted to do what he could to protect them.

He couldn’t describe the feeling of shock as his arm came away from the bed easily, his arm jolting into the air from the force he had been prepared to use. Confused, Lance inspected his other arm to find that the latch of the cuff had been undone, leaving him free to escape his medical prison.

Without another wasted moment he finally pulled the tube from his nose, gagging as he pulled it free and cast it down on the bed. He pulled the catheter from his hand, pressing down on the back of his hand to keep it from bleeding. Feeling better than he had in days, he was overconfident as he jumped off the bed and instantly bent double, holding onto the cot for support. His abdomen was on fire, the wound screaming at him to lie down and stop moving. He took several deep breaths, waiting for the pain to subside, biting deep into his lip to distract himself.

Taking it slower he edged forwards, thankful that someone had left him in soft sweatpants: he doubted he could dress himself right now.

“Go paladins – we need Voltron!”

Lance grunted with effort, grateful that Blue was the closest lion to the medbay. He just had to crawl inside and buckle in, then all he would need was his arms to pilot her. It didn’t matter that he was wounded – he could get through this.

He stumbled into Blue’s hangar, almost crying in joy when he saw her stoic form, sitting peacefully within her blue particle barrier.

Almost tripping over himself he crossed the distance between them, one arm wrapped around his middle as though to keep him in one piece. “Blue!” He cried in greeting, placing a hand to her particle barrier, “Open up, girl. We’ve got a job to do.”

Nothing.

“Blue?” He asked, wondering if she was sleeping. Did the lions sleep...?

He knew they didn’t: he felt her, at the edge of his mind, appraising him as he stood below her. He knew her eyes were trained on him, unwavering in their stare.

“Open up, Blue,” He ordered, trying to stand tall but ultimately flinching and crumbling in on himself. “The team needs help.”

He could feel her through their bond – the concern, the worry. He cast it aside with a shake of his head, not wanting to take it, not from her. “Don’t worry about me, Blue – I’m fine.”

Her voice rumbled in his mind, designed to soothe and placate.

“Lance?”

He turned in surprise to find Allura standing behind him, clad in Paladin armour like his – though where his was blue hers was a soft, light pink. “Allura? What are you doing here?”

She shifted in unease, a helmet held in her hands. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I wanted to help – I heard the alarm. I…” He noted that Blue’s particle barrier had dropped. Noted the armour, the helmet, held in a manner that suggested she was just about to put it on. “I-I wanted to help.”

Her face fell, eyes pleading a silent forgiveness as she said, “You should head back to bed.”

“Where are you going?” He hated himself for how pathetic his voice sounded, hated that he needed to ask. It was one thing that he could feel his heart shattering in his chest, it was another entirely that he could hear it in his voice.

Allura stepped up and placed a light hand to his shoulder, noting his flinch at her touch. “Go back to bed, Lance.”

With that she walked past him and entered Blue, powering her up and leaping from the hangar, the rush of air around them buffeting Lance where he stood.

Did he look that graceful when he and Blue flew together?

He turned his back, pushing the battle from his mind. He was right: team Voltron didn’t need him. All this time he had been a spare part, a seat filler until a more suitable paladin came along. They put him out of commission, and what happens? They get on absolutely fine, content to leave him chained up in the depths of the Castle while they save the world.

He did as Allura asked, though refused to spend another minute in the medbay. He wanted his own bed, his own room – he wanted his own space where he could make decisions for himself.

By the time he had made it to his room the battle was over and the lions had returned. As he raised a hand to the lock pad movement at the end of the hall caught his eye. He looked up to find Hunk standing frozen, staring at him as though he were watching a ghost. Lance saw him war between rushing forward to help his friend or raise the alarm that he had escape.

“Please,” Lance said pathetically softly, close to tears, “Please Hunk, just… I just want to sleep in my own bed.”

Not hanging around for Hunk to make his decision Lance opened the door and walked into his room, locking the door after him and letting the soft blue of the side lights light his way. The lock could easily be disengaged by either of the Alteans, but the act of choosing to be left alone made him feel more secure – they couldn’t just walk in without actively noting they were invading his privacy. His bed was familiar, comfier than the stiff hospital cot with a large duvet that hung off the edges and let him curl into a burrito. He collapsed down amongst the covers and found falling asleep to be easy, his brain choosing to shut down rather than replay the scene of watching Allura walk into Blue.

It made him the happiest he had been in a while to wake up and find out no one had tampered with his locked door.

*****

They came to an understanding of sorts: the team would generally leave Lance to his own devices as long as he 1) attended a check-up with Coran once a day, and 2) at least attempt to have three meals a day. He didn’t need to sit with the rest of the team, he didn’t even need to catalogue it. They told him that they trusted him and didn’t need proof – they just wanted him better.

He wasn’t sure if he believed they trusted him, or if they were monitoring him on the Castle cameras, but it didn’t really matter - he valued his freedom from that bed over skipping meals. So even though the act of doing so left his insides churning he forced himself through the meals so he could head back into his room and savour the peace.

He could feel himself heal slowly, finding moving around the Castle was becoming less and less difficult. His sleep schedule had completely inverted, passed out during the day and left to roam the empty hallways at night. He liked to think he was paying attention to his natural body clock and was synced with the days back in Cuba, with his family. So he ignored the very clear fact that it was only because he wanted to avoid the team as much as possible.

He wasn’t complaining: it was the most sleep he had managed to get in weeks.

*****

 _I should really bring a book or something,_ Lance thought.

He wasn’t sure why he thought it: he enjoyed sitting here, doing nothing and just wasting time watching the stars. He supposed a small part of him felt like he should always be doing something productive instead of just sitting around.

He squashed that thought, enjoying his moments of nothingness.

The Castle moved around a lot: when he came here to sit on the couch and watch the stars he was always greeted with new constellations. He kept the lights turned off and had pulled the couch across the room to sit in front of the large glass window and just _stare_. At first he had scoured the skies for something familiar: a glimmer of home, a constellation that he knew from years of lying out on Varadero Beach and gazing up at the sky. Now, he worked to commit each view to memory.

Every time the Castle moved he was lost all over again, tucked away in a new corner of space with no idea how to get home. So instead he spent his nights scanning the skies stretching out before him, naming new constellations, giving them their own mythology and weaving them stories. He learned these new temporary, skies so that when he inevitably nodded off on the couch he would wake up and recognise the stars above him. He would know exactly where he was, and he wouldn’t be lost anymore.

Until the Castle moved, and he started all over again.

He didn’t realise he had nodded off on the couch until something soft and heavy settled over him. He jumped awake, curling in on his abdomen when the movement twinged his wound the wrong way.

“Sorry.”

He turned his head to find Keith standing behind him, looking sheepish as he let go of the blanket he had settled over Lance’s once-sleeping form. He blinked slowly, unsure he was actually seeing what he was seeing. “Keith?”

“You were shivering,” Keith said, Lance unable to see his embarrassed blush in the darkness. “I’ll just go-”

“Thank you,” Lance said hastily. “You’re…do you want to join me?” He patted the empty cushion at his side.

Keith looked uncertain, hesitant as though the offer were a trap. “Do you…want me to join you?”

Lance considered that for a moment, working out if he had extended the offer just to be polite to a teammate who had done something nice for him. But, while he had been desperate to be left to himself before, now he couldn’t think about anything he wanted more than for Keith to sit in the space next to him and look at the stars. He felt a weak smile trace his lips as he said, “The blanket is big enough to share.”

Keith seemed frozen, as though caught off guard by Lance actually confirming that he wanted the company. Lance turned back to the window, letting Keith make his own decision as he mentally linked the constellations back together.

He hid his smile as he felt step right over the back of the couch onto the cushions before settling down: the boy was honestly an animal.

And, like in the medbay, the pair sat in comfortable silence while they appraised the view. Lance pulled his legs up onto the couch to bury them in the blanket, wishing he had a mug of his mother’s hot cocoa in his hands right now.

Keith sat with a poker straight back, seeming afraid to let himself relax. While it was typical ‘Keith’ behaviour, Lance didn’t have the time for it. Not caring what the red paladin’s reaction may be, Lance settled his head onto his shoulder and nestled his cheek into his warmth.

He felt Keith tense beneath him, holding his breath at Lance’s approach.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Lance asked, refusing to move and instead letting Keith get used the feeling of Lance leaning against him.

“Not usually,” Keith said, voice slightly strained, blowing a slow breath out his nose. “I usually go and train with the Gladiator, but…”

Lance hated how his voice trailed off, like he was deciding whether or not he should tell him something. “But?”

“But,” Keith said, “Allura has had the training room locked when we’re not actively using it.”

“Because of me?” Lance kept his eyes trained on the view, but he noticed the slight nod of Keith’s head.

“She thinks you’re going to go back to training before you’re ready and hurt yourself.”

“Hurt myself _more,”_ He pointed out bitterly, curling his knees up to his chest as though hiding his wound in shame.

“I would have done the same thing, Lance. If I thought I had an opening, I would have taken it.”

“Yeah,” Lance snorted, “But you’re a hothead.”

He didn’t expect the deep rumble of Keith’s chuckle against his cheek. “And, so it seems, are you.”

Lance scowled, knitting his brows together at that observation. Yet, he couldn’t exactly argue with it.

“So what are you doing up here?” Keith asked. Lance noted the careful tone in his voice, as though he were approaching a feral dog.

“I like the view,” He said plainly, because it was true and the simplest explanation of why he was here.

“Those three stars to the right sort of look like Orion’s belt.”

Lance nodded in agreement. “I thought so too – until I asked myself one question. Keith – are you only saying that because they’re pretty much in a line?”

They were silent for a moment before Keith chuckled again, “I guess I am.”

Lance decided he liked when he laughed: he could feel the tension leaving Keith’s muscles as he did so, as though it allowed him to lower his guard slightly.

He could feel his guard lower too.

“Over there,” He said, pointing to their left, “I call that one ‘Tony’.”

“… Tony?”

“Yeah – it kind of looks like the constellation of ‘Leo’ back home but…not.”

“So… _Tony_?”

Lance grinned, realising just how silly it sounded out loud. “Like a lion, but not…”

He felt the moment Keith understood what he was getting at. “Tony the _Tiger?_ You’re naming constellations after cereal?”

“Just these ones,” Lance said, letting the comment hang in the air. Keith could act aloof and emo all he wanted, but Lance knew he had snagged his interest, he just needed to wait-

“Well then, what’s that one?” Keith seemed disappointed in himself for asking, but asking all the same.

“Cap’n.”

“Captain Crunch?” Keith asked, squinting at the collection of stars.

Lance nodded, rubbing his cheek on the fabric of Keith’s jacket. “They kind of look like his hat.”

Keith strained his eyes a bit more, tilting his head and trying to imagine it. “That’s a bit of a stretch.”

“Have you seen the constellations on Earth? They look nothing like what they’re named for.”

“Orion’s belt is pretty close-”

“Have you _seen_ Ares, the ram? Or, for that matter, _Pisces?_ That thing is a clusterfuck, but what it certainly isn’t is a fish! _”_

Keith seemed taken aback for a moment, turning from the view to look down at the boy on his arm. “This…is a new side of you.”

“Over there,” Lance said, dictating as though he were teaching a class, “Is Raisin Bran.” He paused theatrically, waiting for Keith to bite.

He sighed in failure. “Fine – _why_ is it Raisin Bran?”

Lance grinned. “It’s four stars in a rectangle. It’s…plain, uninspiring. Boring.”

“I like Raisin Bran,” Keith sniffed indignantly.

“Of course you do,” He said with a roll of his eyes.

Lance caught Keith up on the constellations he had named so far, teaching them to him like he had taught his siblings all those years ago. It made him long for the feel of sand against his back, of the lull of the waves and the whistling wind trying to snatch his words before they could reach the ears of his siblings, trying to keep the stories of the sky a secret.

“How about that one?” Keith asked, pointing to a cluster of stars Lance hadn’t named yet.

“Hmm…” He considered, screwing up his eyes and letting the specks of light blur. He tried connecting the dots in his mind’s eye, to see how they lined up.

“Kind of looks like a four leaf clover,” Keith said, squinting his eyes just as much as Lance was.

“It does! We’ll call it Lucky the Leprechaun!”

Keith wrinkled his nose, “Lucky Charms aren’t cereal – they’re candy you pour milk over.”

Lance sat up to take Keith in, eyes wide in horror. He raised a hand to his chest in mock horror, mouth gaping open. “How dare you sir! Lucky Charms were a staple of my childhood.”

Keith blinked. “That explains so much.”

Lance swatted at his arm with a chuckle, instantly curling over with a hiss as the movement caused a sharp stab of pain from his wound. His fingers dug into the fabric of the blanket, his other arm coming to hold his gut as he attempted to breathe through the pain without breathing deep enough to impact the wound. He was left with a pathetic shallow gasping, eyes screwing shut for a moment. His back spasmed from the pain, only making things worse, leading for him to gasp and start the cycle anew. He couldn’t catch his breath-

“Lance?” The tension was back as Keith leaned close, looking like he wanted to help but having no idea what to do.

“It’s okay,” He said through grit teeth. “Just…gimme a minute.”

“Should I go get-?”

“Give me a minute!” He didn’t mean to snap, but the thought of getting Coran or Allura here to poke and prod at him, pull him back to the medbay…no. He wanted to stay here and name stars, he just needed to catch his breath.

Keith shifted uncomfortably, the couch squeaking below him. He seemed uneasy, not sure what to do to help, waiting long moments for the waves of pain to stop spasming within Lance. God, he needed something else to focus on, something except from the excruciating burning tearing him apart-

“Hey.” The hand over his was light, hesitant, a contrast of old worn leather and warm smooth skin. Lance didn’t pull away and Keith let his fingers curl over his hand, holding tight to his trembling fingers. “You’re alright Lance. Just- just focus on my voice, okay?”

He released his lips from between his teeth as he gasped out, “It _hurts.”_

“I know it does, Lance. Tell me, what other things have you named stars after?” Keith’s voice was so soothing, so calming – Lance had never heard him speak without even a hint of sarcasm before. He felt tears leaking past his closed eyes, dripping off the end of his eyelashes. He could feel how badly his hand was shaking in Keith’s. He-

“Come on, Lance – tell me.”

“Football teams,” He hissed. “Logos.”

“Good. What else?”

“Food.”

“I bet there was a banana one.”

Surprise hit Lance as he found himself bark out a harsh laugh, “There was!”

Keith smiled a small smile, something fond and fragile that Lance couldn’t see. “What else?”

“Animals. Movie characters. Pokemon.” He was so busy thinking of all of the constellations he had borne he didn’t notice his breathing beginning to calm, how the tightness in his chest loosened and relaxed around his stab wound.

“I would have liked the Pokemon ones – we’ll go back sometime and you can point them out to me.” Keith could feel the trembling leave Lance’s hand, how it unwound from the blanket and instead turned to thread their fingers together. He didn’t pull away.

“I named them after my family too.” Lance brought his head up to meet Keith’s dark eyes, shining in the light of the million stars beyond the window. “My mother, my father – all of them.”

Keith sounded sincere as he said, “You must miss them.”

Lance nodded. “I named some after you guys too,” Lance admitted, instantly embarrassed at revealing that. “After our adventures, what we’ve been through…I-I miss you guys as well. How it was.”

Keith’s face turned hard for a moment, washing it away as quickly as he could. “It’s been a messed up few weeks.” He pulled his hand from Lance’s and sat back against the couch, looking out over their newly named constellations. “I’m sorry,” He practically whispered. “For what they did – for not stopping them. It wasn’t right.”

Lance settled back down too, being particularly gentle. “It’s okay – they’re trying to help.”

Keith side-eyed him, raising an eyebrow. “Do good intentions make what they did any better? Does it make _you_ feel better?”

Lance squirmed in his seat, Keith taking his silence as an answer.

“I appreciate what you said,” Lance told him, letting his eyes wander the stars. “About how I had a right to know – how I had a right to choose.”

“Look.” Keith sighed out his nose, long, working out what he wanted to say. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at his lap. “I won’t say I know what you’re going through, and I won’t rely on what Hunk told us: that was your past, and while it’s a tough situation I personally feel like he didn’t have a right to talk to us before he talked to you. But whatever is going on, mental health or otherwise, I believe that you have a right to make decisions for yourself. Even if that decision is not eating, that’s your choice. I don’t agree that we should dictate your choices just because they’re the _wrong_ ones. You are your own person: you’ve got a lot going on, and you should get to process that however you choose.”

Lance was…stunned, for lack of a better word. He wasn’t sure he had ever heard Keith speak for so long at once before, never mind in this heart-warming, vulnerable tone. It made his chest feel all gooey, and before he knew it he felt tears streaming down his cheeks. With a sniffle he wiped at his cheeks, keeping on staring straight ahead.

“I’m not saying I want you to be hurting yourself,” Keith continued, looking more uncomfortable by the minute. “I’m not saying that your way of processing is healthy – but I won’t be one to judge. Choices like that…you can’t just tell people to stop and they’ll be better. You need to try and understand their thought process, understand _why_ they’re doing what they’re doing.”

“Ask them what’s wrong,” Lance said, echoing Keith’s words from when he first woke up in the medbay.

Keith nodded.

“I miss home.”

Lance didn’t quite expect to actually get the words out. He had thought them so many times, felt them lash and cut and burn in his chest, but never quite got them out. Such a simple thing, eating away at his core, leaving him hollow and sick, every mile from Earth another stab in his heart.

“I miss home,” He says again. This time he ignores the tears as they fall, focused intently on the view as though, through will alone, he could see Earth amongst it all. “I miss my mum, and my dad, and my grandmother. I miss my siblings, and the beach. I miss the waves, and my mum yelling at me to put on more sunscreen, and the pain in my back when I came home burnt to a crisp after falling asleep outside.” He laughed a bitter sound, shaking his head, “I even miss the Garrison, can you believe that? Their shitty food, their scratchy uniforms – I would give _anything_ to be back there right about now.”

Keith nodded his understanding, simply stating, “You miss Earth.”

“I miss Earth,” Lance breathed, feeling as though a weight were lifting from his chest. “I hate it, being so far away. And we can kid ourselves and say we have a choice, we could just ask to go home – but let’s be real. If I go home, then the universe suffers.”

“Not much of a choice when the options are protect the universe or let it crumble.”

Keith understood where he was coming from, and that affirmation made him feel a lot better about his selfish thoughts. About his fantasies that he would give up on Voltron and just go home…

“I don’t _want_ to leave, but I also don’t want to be so far away. I feel bad, that I’m off having these adventures and I’ve left them behind. They have no idea where I am – do they even know if I’m alive? – and I can’t bear the thought of my family hurting because of me. The guilt is too much – I shouldn’t be out here enjoying myself when they’re suffering. I just feel…-”

“Sick,” Keith answers for him. The red paladin shifts on the couch to turn towards Lance, giving him his undivided attention. “So, you stop wanting to eat. You suffer with them.”

Lance mirrors him so their bodies face one another, the universe continuing to turn through the window at their side. “It’s not as linear as that though. I feel physically bad. Food makes me feel sick, so I don’t want to eat it.”

“It may not feel linear to you,” Keith says softly. Everything he says is so genuine-sounding – like he’s not trying to preach, just give Lance the opportunity to discuss this from other perspectives. When he disagrees its not as an argument, but a discussion. “But essentially, when you boil it down, that’s what you’re left with Lance. They’re hurting, so you make sure you hurt too.”

“I’m not making sure I hurt – I already told you, I just don’t want to eat.” He doesn’t want to raise a defensive attack, doesn’t want to strike out because he doesn’t like what he’s hearing. But it’s difficult to feel the anger rise and do nothing with it, to sit back and refuse to let it take control.

“I think you know it’s more than that,” Keith says.

“Come on, Keith – it’s not like I’m self-harming or something. I just don’t want to eat.”

“But look at yourself, Lance,” Keith pleaded. “You’re causing harm to yourself, on purpose. What would _you_ call it?”

Lance looked down at himself briefly, how loose his sweatpants were on his waist, how his shirt practically engulfed him. 12 pairs of clear-cut ribs flash in his mind and he shivers. “That’s not what I-”

“I told myself the same thing,” Keith tells him gravelly. As he speaks he slowly shrugs off his jacket, revealing the black t-shirt below. “I told myself I was fine. I only did it when I needed a distraction, when I needed help clearing my thoughts. What I did, I told myself it was a million things other than the truth.”

He drops the jacket behind him and brings his arms forward. The pale light illuminates his left arm in a white glow, highlighting dark circular ridges of scar tissue up the inside of his forearm. They’re randomly placed, scattered in no distinguishable pattern across the skin. Lance reaches out to touch but freezes, anxiety tight in his chest.

“It’s okay – on you go.”

His fingers meet Keith’s skin and trace, featherlight, over the burn marks.

“I used to have panic attacks a lot as a kid – they hit me so hard I passed out sometimes. I had this one foster dad – a real nasty piece of work – who didn’t like having a gasping, crying, whimpering kid around him. So he used to distract me from the attack my putting his cigarette out on my arm.” Keith stared wistfully down at his arm, as though remembering who put the first marks there. “I wasn’t with him long, but one thing stuck with me after I left: even though the burn was excruciating, that blinding fire searing into my flesh sickening, it did the job. That pain pulled me from that spiral, made me forget the thoughts paralyzing me, and let me breathe again.” Keith smiled a bitter snarl, shaking his head, “Suppose I should thank the bastard for that particular coping mechanism. Anyway – I started smoking regularly, finding it really helped with the anxiety. And, when the thoughts were too much, I was prepared to distract myself.”

“Keith-” Lance heard the word break on his tongue and Keith shot him a hard glare.

“You don’t pity me, and I won’t pity you. Got it?”

Lance nodded.

“It took my a long time to face what I was actually doing, Lance,” Keith said matter-of-factly. “To me, it was a cheat, a trick to reset and avoid a panic attack. I wasn’t hurting myself – I was _helping_.”

“Its not like that, Keith-”

“I won’t tell you what it is and it isn’t Lance,” Keith told him, holding his gaze. “That’s for you to decide. I’m just telling you what I see. Maybe you don’t have the same problem as I did – maybe you are literally home _sick._ Or maybe you _are_ like me, I don’t know. But that’s my story and the painful realisation I had to face after living in denial for so long. If you relate to it somehow, if it helps, then that’s great. If you don’t, then that’s fine too. Just-” He reaches forwards and places his hand over Lance’s, the touch so different this time. Not a grounding pressure, but a soft life line being placed within his grasp. “Just know, if you want someone to talk to I’m always here. We’re teammates, and as much as you drive me crazy we have ended up becoming some kind of friends. Whatever you choose, I won’t judge. I can just listen, or I can advise, or I can wake up tomorrow to you avoiding me as much as the rest of the team. Whatever you need.”

“Thank you.” The words seem so small, so unworthy against what Keith has given him. For the first time in weeks he feels like himself, like the dark cloud isn’t pressing down as hard. Letting him breathe.

“Do you want me to go?” As like everything Keith has given him, the offer faces no pressure. Lance can take it or leave it and Keith won’t take the decision personally.

“Stay,” Lance decides, gesturing towards the window, “I think we have a few constellations left.”

Lance lets Keith take the reins in labelling the cosmos, returning to lean against Keith’s shoulder. He feels so bone-tired, ready to sleep for a year solid if he wants to wake up feeling refreshed. The drone of Keith’s voice, the hypnotising swirl of his outstretched finger as he traces lines between the stars-

Keith watches the stars and Lance watches Keith, committing the random pattern of scars to heart, giving Keith his very own secret collection of constellations.

*****

He returns to his room and, miraculously, the mirror has reappeared. Hung up on his wall where it always had been, taunting him as though it had never been gone at all. A silent apology.

He crosses the room, eyes drawn to the shining surface and appraising himself. His clothes are too loose on his slight frame, hanging in a way that makes him seem like nothing more than a coat hanger. He slides a finger around the waistband of his sweatpants and find they almost completely slip off to the floor, the fabric too loose to hang to his hip bones. He looks in his face.

He is gaunt, as though he were a mere skeleton: even the shadows of his face are casting shadows, cheekbones starkly jutting out below his eyes. He had been so sure he was fine, but…

But this would scare his mother.

Stiffly, he pulled his shirt over his head and watched with discomfort at how his ribs were so clearly seen as he breathed. How they moved as one, pressing up against the skin as though they were going to burst straight through. He counted them, a force of habit, undoing his bandages so he could see the entire ribcage under the tied cloth.

12 gaunt lines on his right side.

He dropped the bandages on the floor at his side, hissing as he peeled the adhesive bandage from his skin. He counted again, determined to finish what he started.

This side he counted 13 lines. One was angry and red, inflamed and painful to the touch, held together by pale blue sutures. But it fell in almost perfectly with the others, leaving 13 perfectly parallel lines in a neat row. He was unbalanced: left to be permanently lopsided.

He didn’t want to see them anymore – didn’t want to watch how they squirmed beneath the surface of his skin. It wasn’t right – it wasn’t healthy.

He considered considering if Keith had a point and, not ready for that thought process, padded through the hallways towards the kitchen.

**Author's Note:**

> I swear the team aren't assholes!  
> I just...wanted to show them in an almost 'villaneous' role in Lance's eyes. But in reality? They're scared and they care for Lance and all they want to do is help, even if their actions are misguided and guaranteed to make things worse. People in your life who don't know what to do aren't evil - they are just trying their best to do what's right.  
> Like Hunk - last time this happened, he helped Lance through when the truth was out. So, this time, he let the truth out in the hopes of doing the same. Because this is written from Lance's view of the events it will be biased, but know that I adore all the team and don't see them as monsters!  
> I don't mean to preach - I just wanted to write about how emotions can manifest and become dangerous, and how our personal world view can become distorted.  
> I hope you enjoyed my tale - please, if you feel like I need to adjust any tags, just let me know xx


End file.
